Page 19 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Fiona

My eyes automatically open at six—just a habit I’ve had since college.

I blink as the gears in my head start engaging.

The soft sheets smell a bit like Bryce—the same detergent, most likely.

Even though it’s just soap scent, nothing more, every time my bare legs brush against the soft material, it feels erotic, like it’s Bryce’s warm hands gliding over my hypersensitive skin.

The sensation doesn’t dissipate but pools between my legs.

It’s ridiculous, but I’m wet and slightly swollen.

If Bryce came into the room right now and slid a finger down my folds, he’d crow smugly with victory.

Damn him.

I thought he might slip into the room and demand an encore, but he didn’t try anything. It’s almost like he’s trying to be a gentleman.

Instead of providing relief, it’s just unnerving. It’s obvious he has the upper hand, and that he wants to humiliate and use me, just like Jude did. I wish my body would wise up, like my head has, but it craves the pleasure only Bryce can give.

So unfair . Billions of men out there, and he’s the only one who can make me lose my mind with sex.

He probably sold his soul to the devil.

My belly growls urgently. I didn’t have anything to eat yesterday— too nervous before the ceremony.

Afterward, I couldn’t eat because I didn’t want to face Bryce in nothing but a T-shirt and boxers.

My nipples were still sensitive and pointed, and the feel of the cotton rubbing against them was just too much.

I’ve never felt like a horny nympho until now.

Sex before and after Bryce was okay. Jude could never manage to give an orgasm.

I just faked it because having him on top of me was nauseating.

Most of the time I told him I was on my period, including that time he made me stage that sex scene in Bryce’s bed.

Jude acted like I was diseased, thank the Lord.

I had a couple of boyfriends after heading to Wisconsin, but I could never really relax around them enough to enjoy myself.

I gasp as a horrifying possibility surges into my mind. Surely I didn’t let my emotional guard down enough to climax like that with Bryce, right? He hates me. If I show him even a hint of vulnerability, he’ll use it to shred me.

No, no . I slap my cheeks a couple of times. My reaction to him is one hundred percent physical . Like having an orgasm with a battery-operated boyfriend. Not all sex toys are equal. Some work better than others. Bryce just happens to fall in at the head of the line.

Food, coffee, then an action plan. In that order.

I can’t let myself be maneuvered into doing what Bryce wants.

I still don’t know why he wants to have sex with me when he had to have had plenty with other women after we broke up.

I’m a realist—there’s no way he didn’t sleep around.

Even when we were together, girls eyed him like they wanted to devour him.

And there’s no way he still harbors any kind of nostalgia for what we had before.

For men, sex is just fun. Maybe a method of stress relief and relaxation. But nothing serious.

I sigh. I wish I’d protested more vigorously when Jude moved my things to his place.

Or at least found a way to grab them before Bryce got so nasty about my going for them yesterday.

I could’ve snuck inside before Jude came home—he probably had to deal with the guests, venue and caterers and go to the hospital for his injured knee. But it’s too late now.

I check the clock on the nightstand. Six thirty. Bryce is probably gone by now. The morning traffic is horrible in L.A., and he was always punctual.

I tiptoe out of my room. Nothing but heavy silence.

I quietly pad to the kitchen. On a stool in front of the counter is my purse.

Good. I look to see if there’s anything for breakfast. Two cups of coffee in the coffee pot.

Guess the machine made it automatically.

A used mug in the sink. I let out a soft breath.

Yup, Bryce is gone. I can take the leftover coffee without any problem.

I pour myself a mug and sip the surprisingly aromatic brew.

Guess he indulges on pricey coffee beans.

Not surprising, though. He loves the finer things in life, and doesn’t care how much they cost. Must be nice to be rich— with his own money .

Even before the Obermans went bankrupt, I never felt like I could touch a penny of their money.

I had to wait until Zachary or Sherry noticed a lack and provided for me.

I open the fridge. Nothing but a carton of milk, some juices and two tubs of whipped cream cheese.

The pantry has egg bagels and a box of cornflakes, my favorite breakfast. I pick up the cereal.

Still sealed. Does he have another box that’s already open?

The only things on the shelves are peanut butter, various jams and some pasta.

Guess not.

I stare at the cereal. If I open it, he’s going to know I rummaged through his kitchen and ate his food. I hate to take more than the money we agreed on. How about the bagels? I don’t care for them, but I’m too hungry to be picky. But…a brand-new bag. Ugh.

I have my purse, so I can just head out and get something. Draw a line. Keep our relationship clear, just between creditor and debtor .

“That cereal won’t jump into the bowl on its own.”

I jump and scream at the same time. The box of cornflakes hits the floor. “Oh my God ! You scared me!” I press a hand over my racing heart as I turn around to face Bryce.

He’s in a black three-piece suit with a blue-gray tie, knotted perfectly. His near-black hair is slicked back, showing his high forehead. His dark eyebrows pinch tighter, and his mouth settles into a flat, vaguely displeased line.

Is he that unhappy about my dropping his precious cereal? Good God, I’ll buy him a new box if it’s that upsetting. I start to bend down to pick it up.

He grips my forearm and stops me. “Take off that shirt.”

What? Gasping, I yank away from him and cross my arms in front of my chest. “No.”

The muscles in his jaw flex. He steps forward, invading my personal space. He smells like the detergent on my sheets and the shirt…and something else—minty soap and male flesh.

My mouth dries as I recall how the bedsheets felt against my bare skin. Alarm flares inside me at the wetness pooling between my legs. Just what kind of spell has he cast on me that I’m turned on by his scent?

From the way his dark gaze bores into mine, I wonder if he knows what he’s doing to me. Oh God…

“Fiona—”

“Don’t you have to go to work?” I say hurriedly.

An impatient sound growls deep in his throat. Closing his eyes for a moment, he exhales heavily. “What were you doing in the pantry?”

“Looking for an open box of cereal.”

“You know I don’t eat cereal.”

I blink as the most unlikely implication sinks into me. “Did you buy it for me?”

His eyelashes flicker, then he nods curtly. “Yes.” The tips of his ears turn pink.

Just that simple answer chips away at my guard. But then I remember how he asked me to take off my shirt just now, probably wanting a morning quickie before work. I keep my voice neutral. “How much do I owe you?”

“Thank me with a kiss.”

The tinge of tenderness I felt just a second ago vanishes faster than a drop of water on a hot pan. I step back, and he steps forward. He drops his eyes to my lips, and they tingle like he’s caressed them.

He’s just peeved at my trying to set boundaries . He wants to torment me, and he can’t do that without crossing all my lines.

My eyes flick to his mouth. Memories of our kisses play in my head.

Sometimes he kissed me teasingly, his lips moving as softly as butterfly wings, coaxing and cajoling, sweetly inviting me to kiss him back and stroke my tongue over the seam of his mouth.

Then there were times he turned me around and kissed me like he missed me so much.

But the best was when he cradled my face in his hot hands and fused his mouth to mine, thrusting his tongue in with ruthless drive, like he was intent on stealing my breath, my heart and my soul.

Every single one of them was too intimate, made my blood heat and belly flop. They knocked at my heart, breaking whatever shield I had around it with ease. They might not have the same impact now, but I’m not risking anything. Especially after learning that he’s even better at sex than before.

My pulse throbs as he continues to advance slowly. I take another step back, blindly fumbling for my purse and pulling out one of the tens I keep in the side pocket for emergencies.

He grips the counter behind me, trapping me against the granite. The heat radiating from him makes my mouth dry. A small tremor runs through me.

He starts to dip his head. Quickly, I slap the ten-dollar bill over his mouth. “Here! For the cereal. Keep the change.”

Something hot and dangerous flares in his eyes, but I don’t back down. Instead I raise my chin in defiance. He pulls back, scowling darkly.

“After I eat, I’ll go and get some clothes and stuff, so I can give you back your precious shirt.”

He glares at me. “You’re going out in nothing but my T-shirt and boxers? To let everyone get an eyeful of what should only belong to me?”

I scoff at the ridiculous display of possessiveness. Just because I owe him two hundred and ninety-nine more times doesn’t mean I need to act like his exclusive property. “My body isn’t for your eyes only.”

“It is until you fulfil your end of the deal.” He looks at me like he’s just found a strand of hair in his dessert.

“I already ordered some clothes.” He wrinkles his nose, speaking like he’s doing something so unpleasant that he’d rather eat broken glass.

“My personal shopper should drop them off later this morning.”

“You know my size? ”